Everything
by raneonthewyndoepain
Summary: You know during Peter's eulogy for Olivia when he said she was everything to him and we all cried? Yeah, this explains why. Set during/after episode 3.14, "6B". Healthy combination of fluff, angst, and maybe a few of that sour yellow fruit.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe, although this is strictly canon. If I did, these scenes would have been included. :) Also, to give credit where credit is due, I totally borrowed the pizza idea from Elialys' fic "One Word at a Time". She's pretty brilliant, you should check her out if you haven't already. Actually, that might be where I got the general idea for this fic as well…oh well, that's what fanfiction is for, right, so everyone can give voice to their version of the same basic events? God know that are enough Jacob-Bella-some-variation-on-the-cliff-diving stories to make anyone vomit. Anyway, enough of my ranting, enjoy!**

**A/N: So basically this starts when Olivia goes to Peter's house in 3.14, but it doesn't leave off when they go upstairs. :) It also includes some scenes from the next morning. Not strict smut, I guess I could have written it that way but it just didn't seem like it would have done these two justice. In my mind, they deserve to be right up there with all the other epic couples, especially after all they went through to get where they were. I started writing this when I was waiting for the premiere last night and I finished it this morning. In my mind, it could serve as a sort of explanation for how Peter feels about Olivia and why he decides to sacrifice himself to save her. Contains a lot of fluff, but also a fair bit of angst. Probably a oneshot, but I might do more if the mood strikes me/there's a positive response. So let me know if that's something you'd like to see! :)**

She wasn't sure what she was doing there. No, that was a lie. She knew exactly why she was there and what she wanted to happen, and that was what made it so difficult to actually go through with what she'd come there to do. As a child she'd had a theory that if you really wanted something to happen, if you imagined exactly how it should be, then those exact events could never unfold. How many times had she imagined her stepfather taking off in an angry rage and never coming back? How many times had she pictured her mother standing up to him, calling the police, ensuring that he could never hurt them again? How many tortured hours had she lain awake picturing just his face, behind bars, drained of all malice? Or worse, his broken body drained of life by the side of the road…but the last one had been too dark even for her late-night thoughts, and she'd felt a rush of gladness that it could not actually come to pass, now that she had dreamed it. And then, when she'd pulled the trigger…she hadn't been wishing for anything. She'd just acted. And still, it wasn't enough.

It was sort of the theme of her life, if you thought about it. She agonized over choices, and then even when she finally managed to make them, it was never enough to keep the universe from literally crashing down over her head. She was constantly in motion, constantly striving, and to be honest, she was sick of it. She felt tired, weary to her very bones. It was so hard to get out of bed these days, knowing what would be waiting for her…and when she'd first come back, when she'd discovered what had occurred in her absence, the thought of seeing him just made it worse. She didn't want to see his smile and think of the months she'd spent missing that very grin. And all the while, he was content with a mere version of her, an impostor…but she shook off the thought. He was sorry, she knew it, sorry to his very core, and even if he'd hadn't been, she'd probably still be here anyway. Because when it came down to the bitter truth, Peter was the only thing in any world that could make her shattered self feel whole. When she thought of his face now, as before the betrayal, it was the reason she pulled off the duvet and greeted the morning. He made her feel alive, yes, but more than that, he made her feel that life was worth living.

Reaching for the courage that was for some reason so much easier to summon while her hand rested surely on her gun, Olivia lifted her hand to knock.

He wasn't expecting her. He wanted her to come, of course. Always, he wanted her to come. But he had given up the expectation. Whatever affection she had once had for him was gone, he was sure. He'd made sure of that, and he knew he would never forgive himself for what he'd done. Even if little by little she forgave him, made amends, even if things went back to their twisted version of "normal", he would never forgive himself for ruining what they might have had. He'd meant what he'd said to her, that it was beautiful. That it would have been beautiful, if only he'd been strong enough to resist the false version of her, the woman who looked and smelled and felt just like his Olivia, but was so very different. He could see it so clearly now. Hell, he'd seen it before. But that hadn't been enough to quell his desire to be with her, at last, in every way…

The knock at the door interrupted his tortured thoughts. Walter? What was wrong now? He put a hand to his temple, tiredly, before forcing himself out of his armchair to deal with what was undoubtedly his father's latest crisis.

To say it was a pleasant shock to see her outside instead was the understatement of the century. It felt his whole body had been jolted and was now buzzing with a pleasant tingling sensation, his heart just a little off-center. God, she was so…lovely. With another woman he might have said "hot" or "gorgeous", but those words just weren't enough for Olivia. No word was really enough for the way that the light from the streetlamp framed her hair just so, the way her green eyes sparkled with shyness and hope, the way her slender, graceful form peeked at him from under her heavy coat. She'd been through so much, his Olivia. And yet, despite her ethereal look here in the moonlight, he would never deem her fragile. Rather, she was the strongest person that he had ever met.

"Peter, what you said to Mrs. Merchant…I want what you want."

For an interminable instant, his heart froze in his throat. How much he wanted to just pull her to him then, to hold her at last. But he made himself pause. Maybe that wasn't what she wanted. "Well, what do you think we should do about that?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay level.

She looked at him and it was obvious what she wanted, and it was what he wanted, too and he felt the overwhelming urge to just take her in his arms again. Every cell in his body was aching to be nearer. But he made himself wait, and slowly, painfully slowly, she moved closer. When she hesitated the feeling flooded back and he prayed that she hadn't changed her mind. But her momentary pause served only for her to give a little slight smile he didn't quite understand, almost as if to say, "here goes nothing." And then her lips were on his and it wasn't nothing, it was everything he'd been missing his whole life.

On the drive over, she'd pictured what it would be like. He'd open the door, they'd exchange pleasantries, he'd get some glasses. She would say what she'd come there to say, and he would agree and then the gulf that had seemed to open up between them in the weeks since she'd been back would close and they'd be just Peter and Olivia again. And then maybe, if she was very lucky, his sturdy arms would encircle her and take away the sea of regret in which she was ceaselessly swimming.

She'd tried not to think these things, of course. It was against her creed. If she thought of them, imagined exactly what she wished to happen, it would never actually happen. But she couldn't help it. She cared too much not to think of these things, not to want them. That was always her fatal flaw.

Before she'd kissed him, she'd been afraid. Afraid that it wouldn't be like she thought, or that she wouldn't be able to fully forgive him. But the moment their lips touched, it was as if all the pain she'd been carrying around simply melted away. The pain that caused her shoulder blades to knot, sparing them from the absence of his caress, was gone. She was free. As he pulled her to him, and she felt his body solid and warm against her own, she no longer felt afraid, but alive. Her veins seared with vibrancy and something awoke in her that had been dormant for too long. Peter and the other Olivia might have spent nights together, but none like this one, she suddenly knew. None where every gesture was both instinctive and infused with meaning. She'd thought the other Olivia had taken everything, but this…this was hers.

When she pulled away from him, he knew that he was supposed to feel scared, but he didn't. There had been nothing uncertain about that kiss, and it wasn't a struggle to keep his voice calm this time as he asked, "Am I glowing?"

Olivia only shook her head slightly and moved to walk around him. Confused, he turned. She looked amused and held her hand out for him to take. Not sure where this was heading, he obliged, and had to struggle to keep his jaw from hitting the floor when she headed for the stairs. He was floored that she trusted him this much already, after how he'd hurt her…but then, that was Olivia. Never one to do things halfway, he was certain her decision had been made from the moment she'd left her apartment tonight. Peter Bishop was world-famous for his lying skills, but at that moment, he didn't think he could convince a person on earth that he didn't find this raw display of confidence incredibly sexy.

That feeling was only intensified when they reached his bedroom. He'd left the door ajar, and the dim lamp by his bed was still on, an oversight. Now he was glad, since the waste of energy made the ordinarily rather plain room look warm and inviting. The soft yellow light accented Olivia's hair just so and made her look more beautiful than ever. Impulsively, he pulled her back to him, kicking the door shut with his foot, and began to explore her mouth hungrily. She responded with equal verve, and within a second her scarf was discarded on the floor, followed quickly by her coat. He couldn't keep a moan from escaping him when his eyes drank in her exposed collarbones; she had departed from her typical professional blouse to don a deep red sweater with a swooping neckline, which made her look both striking and newly vulnerable.

Olivia grinned at his reaction, her lovely eyes light as she did so. Still smiling, she took a handful of his sweater in her hand and pulled him up against the wall. It was yet another confident, simple gesture, and that was all it should have been. However, her body language reminded him so inextricably of the other Olivia that he couldn't withhold his sharp intake of breath. As soon as the gasp escaped him he cursed himself, but it was too late, she had noticed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and he watched with dismay and self-loathing as her face which had been so carefree only seconds before grew clouded once again.

"That. That is what's wrong," he said, indicating her expression. "I don't want you to doubt me, Olivia, but I don't deserve any better. But what I would really hate is if I became the reason you doubt yourself."

For a long moment, she said nothing, just stared at him with an inscrutable gaze. Then, "something I did, right? The way I moved, just now. It reminded you of her."

He felt his eyes close involuntarily. He hardly recognized his voice as the strangled words left him. "I'm so sorry."

"Peter. Peter, look at me."

He did, and he was astonished by the intensity of her gaze, the passion behind it. He didn't know why he was surprised, only that this woman never ceased to amaze him. And she only surpassed even more of his expectations with her next words.

"You will never be the reason I doubt myself. Even when I came back, even when I was so angry with you - more angry than I've ever been at anyone in my whole life - you still gave me strength. You've always been someone that I can fight against, play ideas off of, hold onto when I don't know where else to turn. That is one thing that will never change."

He was so relieved as he rushed to take her in his arms once again that he was hardly conscious of the words he mumbled into her silky hair, but he knew she heard them. "I won't ever let you down again, Olivia. I promise." He felt her gasp against him, felt her wild intake of breath, and then she was kissing him again, her hands feverishly exploring his chest. In a single, quick move she divested herself of her sweater. He felt a pang of regret at the poor treatment of such a lovely thing, but was instantly distracted by the view that was now before him. He'd seen her in only her bra before, but that had been in the lab, as part of an experiment. Back them he had been only her ally, not even a friend. How different it was to look upon her as a lover, to know that he was free to run his hands over her smooth, warm skin. He didn't waste much time in pulling his own shirt over his head, and then they were touching again and it was better than anything he could have imagined, better than all the times he'd pictured this. Supporting her shoulders with one hand and the backs of her knees with the other, he stopped kissing her for a moment to carry her to his bed. She laughed as he lifted her, the sweet, low chuckle he hadn't heard enough of lately.

Once they were on the bed, something even more instinctive took over, something innate and strong. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail impatiently, and the sight of it fanned out on the pillow was enough to make him groan. The clasp of her bra came undone with ease, and then they were just skin on skin and he couldn't get enough of this. The feel of her breast in his palm was perfect, almost too much to bear. He tried to hold back, to make himself go slower, but it was difficult. He wanted all of his Olivia, and he wanted her now.

It had been a long time since she'd done this. That thought kept .,occurring to her not because things felt awkward but because they were so natural. It was almost eerie. They fit together just right, his body resting in the crook of her own. The feel of him stiff against her stoked the spark in her lower abdomen until it was a full-fledged fire. When he pulled his lips away from hers, she almost cried out in protest, but they were back in seconds, at her neck, marking the underside of her jaw. She let out of a low moan as he left a trail of kisses down between her breasts. He lavished moments on each one, and the whole time she had to grip the bed sheets in response to the feel of his incisors like lightest embers on icy, frigid skin. He kissed his way down her abdomen, around her navel, and undid the final clasp. In a smooth motion, he divested her of her slacks and panties so that she was completely bare before him. Then, seemingly unable to resist, he leaned forward to kiss her once more. Another quick move and only boxers separated them. His hand slipped down between her thighs, and she arched her back instinctively, arcing forward to meet him.

He was gentle at first, probing. But she had waited so long for him to touch her like this that she couldn't contain herself. With his first thrust, she whimpered, and his strokes became steadily surer even as he kissed her passionately. He was working her into a frenzy, but she didn't want the flames to dance too high without stoking his fire, too. She was coming undone, and she wanted to unmake him also. The hunger for their bodes to be joined at last became insatiable, and she cried out.

"Peter, Peter, I need you -"

"Oh, God," was his breathless reply. Cradling her face with his free hand, he slowly withdrew the other to rummage about in the drawer of his nightstand. He turned away from her for just a moment as his boxers joined the pile of clothing on the floor and she heard the crinkling of the wrapper. As he did this, she surveyed his strong, sturdy back admiringly, one hand lightly tracing his spine.

And then he was back and kissing her once more. She could feel him at her entrance, and then, in one sudden yet protracted moment, they were joined, each shuddering in pleasure. Her hips rocked against him almost of their own accord, and in response he settled deeper into her, each getting used to the feel of the other. It took only a moment to find the right rhythm, and then she was clinging to his strong shoulders, arching her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest, wrapping her legs tighter around him. Growing bold, she flipped him over so that she was straddling him and leaned back so that one of her hands rested on the bed and her head tilted back to let her hair swing free. He responded by putting his hands on her hips and grinding them deliciously into his own. She cried out she drew closer, and suddenly he sat up, sending a cry of pleasure scurrying from her throat. Then their positions were reversed once more and each was pressing harder than they could have imagined against the other, aching to be one. And in one blinding instant, when he had one hand at her hip and the other cradling her head, each found their release.

When Peter awoke, he was shocked and grateful to find Olivia still lying against him, her body still pressed against his own. He'd remembered reaching for her last night, after they'd both come down from the high of being together at last, and she had nestled into him with a soft little sigh. But he'd expected her to be gone by morning. Actually, he'd expected everything that had happened to be some, crazy, perfect dream, and the happiness he felt upon discovering it all to be real was overwhelming.

Eventually, however, certain bodily needs trumped his desire to just lay here with her forever, and with a soft kiss to the back of her neck, Peter began to untangle himself. Olivia gave a semi-conscious moan as she felt her source of warmth leaving her, and he froze, not wanting to wake her. But she didn't make another sound, and, tucking the blanket around her, he got up and headed for the bathroom.

It was no use trying not to think of her. He thought about her while he brushed his teeth. He thought about her while he got dressed, pulling on sweatpants and a random shirt. Where was his MIT shirt, anyway? He missed that thing; it was perfectly worn-in. He thought about her while he made coffee, and when he turned around to see her standing shyly in the kitchen doorway, clad only in a particularly outsize plaid shirt of his, well then she occupied his mind like a two-story billboard.

"Good morning," she said, and then, pressing on quickly, "I hope it's okay that I'm wearing this. I just didn't really want to put my clothes from last night back on yet. But if it's not I can -"

In two strides he was holding her again, cutting her off with a kiss. When they broke apart, he said into her ear, "It's very, very okay. In fact, please wear my clothes anytime you want. Aren't you cold, though?"

She was, he could tell. He could feel her trembling against him. "I'll get you my robe." But when he tried to leave she grabbed his hand and pulled him back to her. "Not so fast," she murmured, and lifted her head to meet his again.

"I'll be right back," he promised, breaking away with a smile. When he returned with the robe Olivia was standing on her tiptoes, presumably reaching for the mugs, which were located on the very topmost shelf of the cabinet by the sink. The action made his shirt ride up so the backs of her upper thighs were exposed, and he noted with surprise and arousal that she wasn't wearing underwear.

Setting his robe on the kitchen island, Peter went to stand behind Olivia, encircling her in his arms. She gave a little startled cry at his embrace and bounced back down onto the balls of her feet, the mugs forgotten. Peter was sorry for having surprised her until she twisted her head around and he could see the bright smile on her face. One of her hands tangled with his as the other wound around to settle on the nape of his neck, and she kissed him ardently. They continued on in that fashion for a moment until Olivia's stomach suddenly growled. They broke apart, both laughing, and she twisted in his hold so that she was facing him, propped up against the counter.

"First things first…breakfast." Peter said firmly, trying his level best not to stare at the skin he'd exposed when he'd begun unbutton her shirt.

Olivia, who was now resting nonchalantly against the counter with her arms spread out on either side of her, let her gaze flicker downward and then back up to meet his eyes before saying slowly, "Yeah, I'm…hungry."

Peter was sure who moved first, only that in one instant they went from staring at each other with naked desire to being clasped together once more. This kissing was different from last night, still more feverish, and he didn't hesitate to pick her up and set her down on the kitchen island. Luckily, when he'd gone to get the robe, his rakish mind had caused him to grab something else as well, and so they didn't have to take a break before inaugurating the kitchen.

'This is going to be a problem at work, isn't it," Olivia mused. They were sitting side by side on the countertop now, she wearing both his shirt and robe because he had put it, "I don't trust myself to keep my hands off you otherwise." Peter, however, was still shirtless, which Olivia very much enjoyed.

"Problem?" He arched one eyebrow slightly. "I don't see any problem…"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Peter."

He laughed. "Okay. Fine. We'll just, I don't know…go out for pizza a lot."

"Yeah…pizza…" Olivia echoed, but it was clear from the way she was staring at his chest as she said it that her thoughts were far away. Peter smiled and started to reach for his shirt, which pulled Olivia out of her reverie.

"No, wait -" she said, and then bit her lip. Peter was raising both eyebrows now.

"Okay, not that I don't enjoy that you appreciate my physique, but-"

"No, it's not that." He was still raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I do," she admitted, blushing, "but just hold on. I have something for you. Give me that." And with those words she playfully snatched the shirt out of his hands and exited the room, leaving Peter to jump off the counter and pour the coffee shirtless, confused and honestly a bit chilly.

When she returned, she was clutching a gray t-shirt in her hands. He recognized it immediately, but that didn't make it any less cute when she unfolded it dramatically and struck a pose, saying "Ta-da!" as she did so. She tossed it at him and he caught it deftly, smiling. "I've been looking for this," he admitted, donning the shirt.

"Yeah, I figured," said Olivia, looking very pleased with herself. Then, slightly softer, "I found it in my laundry."

Peter had inherited a genius-level IQ from his father, but for some reason it still took him too long to put the pieces together on that one. When he did, his shoulders sagged and he ran his hand through his hair in a despairing gesture.

"Christ, Olivia. I'm sorry."

She shrugged, taking a place on one of the stools this time. He was very conscious of her eyes on him as he stirred her coffee (black, one sugar), and then he heard her say quietly, "It's okay."

"No, it's not!" Peter couldn't contain his outburst. He hated the resigned tone in her voice, the way that this topic made his bright Olivia go all quiet and sad again. He hated that it was because of him. He couldn't look at her as he set the mug down in front of her. "Here."

"Peter, wait." Her hand was on his shoulder, forcing him to turn back towards her. "You have to stop beating yourself up for this. It's not as if I've never made a mistake. I kept the truth about who you were from you for weeks, don't you remember? And you forgave me for that. I forgive you, now it's time you did the same."

He shook his head, resisting her reassurances. "No, it's not the same at all. You did that because you didn't want to lose me. I…I didn't even realize that I had lost you."

He wanted to turn away, to drown in his self-loathing, but her eyes wouldn't let him go. "There's a pretty simple solution to that, Peter."

"What's that?" was his whispered plea, her green gaze captivating as ever.

She stood, her coffee forgotten, and put her arms around him. Instinctively, he returned the gesture, but all of his mind was occupied with listening intently to her next words. "Don't ever lose me again."

Peter sighed and pressed her close to him, one hand on her hair and one at the small of her back. "Never," he vowed, and kissed the top of her head, pausing for just a moment to drink in the scent of her sweet-smelling hair. To a drifter like Peter, a rebel without a cause, someone who'd never really believed in anything, she smelled like home. She was what he'd been longing for all those long years without ever knowing. She'd given him a purpose, and he was an infinitely better man for having known her, despite all the pain he'd caused. But he would make up for it, he knew. Either that or spend his whole life trying. Because life without Olivia was nothing at this point. Somehow, this woman who'd disrupted his path so abruptly three years ago had gone from being a major nuisance to a friend to his past, present and future all wrapped up in one person. There wasn't one word for what Olivia meant to him, because, put simply, she was everything. And he was never going to let her go.

**A/N, cont: Ah, I'm going to cry. Ah, well. Hope you enjoyed, and sorry if there are a bunch of grammatical errors I missed or something, this is looong and I don't have the energy to look over it again right now. But if you liked it/want more of the same, drop me a review and let me know! Thanks, and happy watching since Fringe has officially returned! FINALLY! Lol. :)**


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